


The Taste of Him

by orphan_account



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Armpit Kink, Body Hair, Facials, Humiliation, M/M, Masturbation, Sweat, Verbal Humiliation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-03
Updated: 2013-02-03
Packaged: 2017-11-28 01:03:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/668488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As he stretches his arms out, you catch a glimpse of Dirk's immaculately trimmed underarms.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Taste of Him

**Author's Note:**

  * For [deadcellredux](https://archiveofourown.org/users/deadcellredux/gifts).



After wiping the last drops of water from his bare, taut stomach, Dirk moves to hang the towel over the edge of the closet. As he stretches his arms out, you catch a glimpse of Dirk's immaculately trimmed underarms, fluffy blond hairs kept short, leaving precisely enough length to maintain a distinct masculinity. Not for the first time, you wonder what it'd be like to press your face there and just _smell_ him. There wouldn't be much for your nostrils to revel in right now, cleanliness with a hint of soap, but it's still appealing. You'd be able to detect a whiff of his underlying, intoxicating, natural scent. It would be splendid after he fought with some of his robots, dripping with sweat, but Dirk was a stickler for deodorant, and getting a mouthful of chemical gel wasn't precisely your idea of a gay time.

That uptight gent always applies his deodorant right after his showers. Every time you witness him emerge, still naked except for his towel, you hope he won't make a beeline for his personal hygiene products, but he has a routine. Don shades. Hang up towel. Put on deodorant. Get dressed. A few times, you tried distracting him, but he never let himself be pulled away until he had finished the personal grooming stages; getting him while nude was a fine consolation prize, but not quite the blue ribbon.

“What are you staring at, Jake?” Dirk pauses, arms frozen in their outstretched position, fingers releasing the towel as he turns toward you.

You never get tired of seeing his body, arms perfectly toned, sinewy biceps and triceps under his pale skin. Belatedly, it hits you that if he's watching you that you should be looking at a more conventional target, either his eyes or his cock, but it's probably too late.

“Like what you see?”

You hurriedly shift your gaze to his cock. Maybe it isn't too late.

“When haven't I swooned at the sight of your formidable phallus?”

“That's not what you were staring at, dude.” OK, it is too late. He's definitely noticed.

You wilt and glance away. “Can't a gentleman admire the whole of his lover's form?”

“Come here.”

You approach, butterflies in your stomach. You can't resist when he talks to you like that. His darn, alluring confidence.

Calmly, he knots a hand in the back of your hair, grip tight but not yet painful. Your lips part but no sound escapes; you simply wait for him.

“You were staring at my armpits.” It's a statement, not a question, but you feel compelled to answer anyway.

“Well, yes.”

“And here you had been the one acting like I was the one with obscure tastes.” He gives your hair a little tug and you tilt your chin up, struck with fleeting hope for a kiss. But it's not that easy; it's never easy with Dirk. “What? Go ahead.”

It takes you a second to stop craning your neck, bouncing on the balls of your feet nervously, before you realize he's not inviting you to snog him. His right hand is buried in your hair, but his left hand is still planted against the closet door, presenting his delectable underarm. Hesitantly you lean in and press your lips to the inside of his elbow. You blush and can't bear to look at him, but you feel him watching you as you trail downwards across muscled flesh. Desire pools in your stomach, and you practically tremble when your mouth first brushes against the uppermost tufts of hair.

“Don't be shy, dude.” He sounds so infernally calm; meanwhile your cock is jumping in your pants at his lusciously exposed body part and verbal encouragement.

You lower your neck slightly and bury your face in his underarm. It mostly smells like his soap, deep and clean, but there's a hint of musk there that isn't just the soap: it's your lover's scent. You rub your nose in it, wishing there was more.

“Do you like me clean, or are you fantasizing about me nasty and stinking from an intense session of strife?”

“Not stinking, just a wee bit less sterile,” you mutter against him, half-hoping that he can't hear you. Your face colors with humiliation even as you downplay your interest. Of course Dirk would pick up on the fact that you'd prefer him a wee bit dirtier. Clever chap didn't miss a thing.

“Not buying it. You want me grody. I've seen the disappointment in your eyes when I put on my deodorant.”

“I can't fault you for grooming yourself.”

“Shut up and lick my armpit already.”

You just want to die a little bit right now, cheeks burning with embarrassment, but you obey him with pleasure. You shift your body closer to his and tilt your head slightly to give a long, enthused lick. It's lucky that he's a bit taller than you, since otherwise this would be an extremely awkward angle rather than just a tad inconvenient. His armpit hair is rough and coarse under your tongue, but perfectly trimmed, avoiding the crummy possibility of stray hairs getting caught in your teeth or such nonsense. It's controlled but still manly, just like the rest of Dirk, perfect. As you coat the hairs with spit, you imagine what it'd be like to savor little droplets of his sweat trapped here after he worked out, to find him salty and rich with his own unique smell. As you go to town on him, he relinquishes your hair and reaches between your bodies.

“Filthy pervert. You really want to get off while doing this, don't you?”

You nod, unwilling to pull your mouth away. You fumble to pull out your thick, straining cock, distracted as he starts to touch himself as well. When you finally manage, you stroke yourself, warm and stiff. You move your lips up to suck on the upper edge of his armpit hair, where it reunites with the smooth skin of his upper arm.

“You want to see me dripping with sweat. You want me to force your face under my arm when I'm gross and should be heading to the shower. But more than that, you don't want to have to wait, do you?”

And fuck, you don't want to wait. You want him slick and stinking to high heaven like _him_ , but you also want him like this, right now. You want your nose full of the scent of Dirk Strider, you want to taste him – here, there, everywhere.

He lowers his arm, forcing you away. You protest, tongue still outstretched greedily, but he gently pushes your shoulders. You respond to the cue – he's taught you what to do – and drop to your knees, still pumping yourself. The interruption pushes you back from the brink of orgasm, enough to gaze up at Dirk with need. His skin is flushed slightly, his body is a sculpted masterpiece, and he's tugging himself fast with his bare hand.

“Don't look away.”

You don't. You look up at him, quickly re-approaching climax as you imagine sucking salty sweat from his skin, right off his muscular arms and his shoulders and his finely trimmed underarm hair.

He beats you there, moaning as he spurts onto your face, painting your glasses white and falling hot and thick on your lips. As he milks out the last drops, quieting as his hand slows, you are overwhelmed by him. Your eyes flutter closed as you too come.

Your semen oozes out onto the carpet, but it's not until you're spent, head resting against Dirk's thigh, that the embarrassment hits you. Golly, well, that was almost spot on, except this messy ending.

“Clean it up. I'll be on the roof.”

He kisses you, flicking some of his own seed off your lips with his tongue before flash-stepping away. A pang of loneliness hits you as you shakily get to your feet, but you realize moments later that he didn't ever end up putting on deodorant. Perhaps more carnal satisfaction awaits in the near future, you muse as you take off your glasses and lick them clean, savoring the taste of him.


End file.
